by Lila Dubois
“Poison? What?” Franco headed for the door. “Call 911 back.”
Devon grabbed him, pushing him toward a table. “Set her down.”
There must have been something in his voice, something that let the other man know that he would not hesitate to kill if needed. Franco laid her on the table.
Devon leaned down so she wouldn’t have to speak above a whisper. “What else do I need to know?”
“Almonds.” In the light of the rare-book room, her skin was flushed as if she had a sunburn, her lips turning blue. Her breathing was ragged.
“I understand.” Devon wanted to hold her, kiss her, tell her it would all be okay. He did none of that.
She seemed to relax, as if she trusted him to take care of her. Praying that was true, and praying he could save her, Devon dialed his phone.
“Hello, Alexis? This is Devon Asher. I need your help. Do you have a cyanide-poisoning kit?”
*****
“She knows.”
Devon ignored Franco and dropped into a chair in Michael’s office at Boston General Hospital. He wasn’t even sure what time it was anymore and he was exhausted. Franco was stripped down to his underwear, a blanket over his shoulders. They’d both handed over their clothes and showered as a precaution, in case there were trace amounts of the poison on them. Devon had borrowed a pair of scrubs and run back to his hotel then headed out to investigate. He hated being away from Juliette when she was ill, but he knew her well enough to know she’d want action, not useless waiting.
“Why didn’t you tell her the truth?”
“Shut up.” The words were too quiet for Franco to hear.
“I saw her face. She was heartbroken.”
“I said shut up.”
“No.”
Devon was too tired to stop himself. He exploded out of the chair, pinning Franco against the wall with his forearm across his throat.
“You have no right to question me. I’ve done my duty. My whole life I’ve done my duty. Juliette got to take a stand, to be idealistic. I didn’t.”
Franco was eerily calm, not resisting him in any way. Devon eased back. Franco grabbed his shoulder and flipped their positions, pinning Devon against the wall, the calm demeanor a ruse.
“If you loved her, you wouldn’t have used her.”
“Used her?” Devon closed his eyes. “What exactly does she know?”
“She knows you’re a CIA agent and that you’ve been using her for information without her knowledge.”
“Fuck.” This was worse than he’d imagined. Everything was spiraling out of control. “I hoped…I hoped she’d only figured out I was CIA.”
“If our marriage is going to work, you’re going to have to tell the truth.”
Devon opened one eye. “Our marriage?”
“I told her that the three of us should get married.”
Devon eased himself away from the wall, forcing Franco back a step. “I know how Juliette feels about the CIA and what I do. She made it very clear years ago. After last night, there might have been a way for us to reconcile, but now…” He swallowed, forcing his voice to remain level though it wanted to break from pain. “I’m sure you’ll be part of the trinity she eventually assigns herself, but I won’t be.”
“She loves you—she’s loved you for a long time.”
“According to her, it’s not love, it’s brainwashing.”
“Juliette doesn’t seem like the kind of person who can be brainwashed.”
That startled a laugh out of Devon. “No. She’s not.”
“I think that’s what makes her angry, what frightens her. She’s tried to talk herself out of loving you, and she can’t.”
“Franco…don’t. Please.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t give me hope.”
The door opened and Alexis stepped in. Her face was grim. As one, they turned to her.
“You were right, Devon. It’s cyanide poisoning.”
“Fuck,” Franco whispered.
“Will she be okay?”
“Yes. It wasn’t a huge dose and we got to her in time for the hydroxocobalamin to be effective.”
Both men sighed in relief. Juliette would be okay. Devon hadn’t taken a true deep breath since she’d whispered “almonds”, prompting him to inhale and realize she smelled like bitter almonds, the telltale sign of cyanide poison.
“How?” Devon needed answers.
“I’m not sure. I’ve only seen this kind of thing when it’s been inhaled. Usually cyanide poisoning is accidental and happens when there’s been a fire, particularly in a place with a lot of plastic. But you,” she gestured to Franco, “said you were with her. If you aren’t feeling sick, then it wasn’t inhaled, meaning it was either ingested or injected.”
“I brought something for you to test.” Devon took a bag from his pocket and held it out. In it was a gold pen he’d found on Juliette’s desk. “Be careful, it’s sharp, and it looks like there’s blood on it.”
Alexis held up the bag to examine the pen. “A poisoned pen? If it were coated in cyanide and she cut herself on it, that might be enough to transmit it.”
“I saw her sucking on her finger after she cut it, but that can’t be it.” Franco shook his head. “The pen was in the box I gave her.”
Devon bowed his head, giving himself a moment of respite. He reached into his coat. “That’s what I was afraid of.” He pulled out his gun and pointed it at Franco.
“Whoa! What the fuck?” Franco raised his hands in the universal “don’t shoot” posture. The blanket fell to the ground.
“Devon, is this necessary?” Alexis looked weary.
“Yes.” Devon held his phone in his other hand, ready to call for a cleanup crew. “His grandfather was a member, but never called to the altar. I’m thinking there was a reason for that.”
“Are you going to shoot me? Actually shoot me?”
“The fact that you’re asking makes me think you haven’t been paying attention. I will do anything to protect her.”
“You mean protect the Trinity Masters.”
Devon lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear. “Juliette is the Trinity Masters.”
“Devon. Stop.” Juliette’s voice was weak, but they reacted as if she’d yelled the command.
Devon’s whole body started to shake with relief when he saw her standing in the doorway. She seemed tiny in the too-large hospital gown that hung from her shoulders. Her skin was no longer flushed, her lips their normal color. If anything, she was pale, the dark circles under her eyes standing out.
“Juliette.”
Their gazes met. He expected to see anger. Expected her to rage and throw things. He’d lied to her. He’d had Sebastian help him get her email passwords so he could use the information she gathered for her humanitarian work to inform the CIA’s activities in the regions where she’d been. He’d been hoping to someday come clean and somehow make it okay once they were married.
Once she couldn’t get away.
He was such an ass.
“I’m sorry.” The words were heavy, conveying years of regret and missteps.
Juliette nodded. The anger he’d expected to see wasn’t there. “I know.” She seemed calm and in control. She seemed like the Grand Master.
Juliette turned to Franco. “Did you know?”
“Can you make him put down the gun?”
“Did you know?” Juliette’s tone didn’t change. She was like a stone—not necessarily unfeeling, but hard and immovable.
Franco seemed to sense the change. He lowered his hands a fraction as his gaze searched her face. “Did I know what?”
“Did you know about the poison?”
“No.”
“Alexis, please test the pen.”
“Of course. It will only take a second.”
When she left the room, the three of them stood in silence. Tension ebbed and flowed between them as if it were a living thing.
“Lower the
gun, but don’t put it away.”
Devon dropped his arm to his side.
Franco lowered his hands. “Juliette, I didn’t know.”
“Either you truly didn’t know, or you’re a very skilled assassin.”
“Assassin? You don’t really think…I didn’t even know you existed until two weeks ago!”
“The Grand Master always risks assassination. Our secrets are kept but not absolute.” Devon spoke to Franco but he was looking at Juliette. “I spoke to Harrison and he told me about the attempt on his life. There are some who might not accept Juliette as the new Grand Master. They won’t know who she is, but there’s no hiding that she’s a woman.”
“Which is why no one can know about the poison. I can’t appear weak. That means it’s up to the three of us to solve this mystery.”
“Could it have been accidental?” Franco sounded hopeful.
“No. You heard Alexis. Burning plastic is what causes accidental poisoning.”
“Shit. I swear I didn’t know. I never opened the box.”
Juliette took a step and wobbled. Both Franco and Devon lunged to help her but she waved them back and took a seat. “And your grandfather never opened the box?”
“No.”
“I think he was meant to. I think the poison was meant for Franco’s grandfather.”
“Why?”
“Because of this.” Juliette held out a crumpled sheet of paper. “My father used to tell me stories about how his own father, my grandfather, would send messages using invisible ink, ink that had to be brushed with lemon juice to make it appear. There was a vial and a paintbrush in the box. I think at one point the vial held lemon juice, and the paintbrush was used to apply it.”
Franco yelped in excitement and started moving toward Juliette. Devon raised the gun and cleared his throat. Franco froze then bared his teeth in a snarl of frustration.
Juliette’s lips twitched as she tried to hide a smile. That little hint of a smile allowed much of the tension to drain out of Devon’s shoulders. He kept the gun pointed on Franco, but was really hoping he wouldn’t have to shoot the other man.
“This sheet was hidden under the false bottom of the box. It just a bunch of random words in Spanish, but when you apply lemon juice there’s a message.”
“What does it say?” Devon asked.
“It says something along the lines of ‘decode this and bring the answers to Boston’.”
“Meaning my grandfather was supposed to find and read the letter.”
“Yes.”
Franco shook his head. “Then why wouldn’t he have opened the box?”
“And why would there be a poisoned pen inside?” Devon asked.
“That’s what we’re going to figure out.” Juliette stood. “The gala is in two days.”
“We should wait until you’re better.” Devon didn’t like the idea of her facing down the assembled Trinity Masters while still recovering.
“We can’t wait. You know that.”
“Can I have the letter?” Franco looked at Devon—more specifically, at the gun.
Juliette nodded and Devon lowered the gun as Alexis returned.
“The pen tested positive. I know you’re going to want it back to study it, but it’s too dangerous.” Alexis looked grim. “I’ll handle disposal. Devon, Franco, if you feel any shortness of breath, you need to head immediately to the emergency room.”
“Thank you, Alexis,” Devon said.
“That cyanide was weak—if it had been full strength you could have been in serious trouble. Most likely the reason you got sick is because you sucked on your finger when you cut it. Do you want me to call Harrison?” Alexis picked up Juliette’s wrist as she spoke, checking her pulse.
“No. I can handle this.”
Alexis nodded, but she looked worried. “You have to rest. You might feel okay right now, but that’s probably adrenaline. I have a private room set up for you. When you’re done here, come to my office and I’ll take you to a room where no one will bother you.”
“I’m going to go home.”
“No, you’re not. You’re at least going to spend the night in the hospital. You were poisoned.”
Juliette looked poised to protest then seemed to deflate. “Okay. Thanks, Alexis.”
Once Alexis left, Juliette gave Franco the letter before she, too, turned to leave.
“Juliette, wait.”
She paused, turned back to him, and Devon got a horrible sense of deja vu.
“I need time, Devon. Just need time.”
Then she was gone, leaving Devon standing with a gun dangling from his hand, Franco frowning down at the crumpled paper.
Franco looked up. “What are we going to do?”
“We? I just held a gun on you.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t shoot me.”
“Usually I’m a fan of ask-questions-later, except when it comes to shooting people.”
“Hard to torture information out of someone when they’re dead.”
“True.”
“That was supposed to be a joke.”
Devon shrugged, but he was biting back a smile.
“Fucking CIA.” Franco frowned at the letter. “I need lemons. Where would I find lemons?”
“Come on. I’ll help you.”
“Can I have some pants first?”
Devon laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Everything about his life was serious and dramatic. Someone like Franco, who could take even the direst situation and add a note of sometimes unintentional comedy, was wonderful.
“First pants. Then lemons.”
*****
The reality of it didn’t hit her until late that night. Juliette jerked awake, clawing at her throat, the memory of the poison-induced strangulation enough to have her crying out.
Arms came around her, comforting and cradling her.
“Devon?”
“I’m here, Jules.”
“Franco?”
“Shh, you’re safe, querida.”
The hospital bed wasn’t big enough for them to join her, but they held her hands, stroked her arms. Protected on either side, Juliette fell back to sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
It was too risky for Juliette to go back to the house on Winthrop Square, since the other legacies were arriving in advance of the gala. Devon upgraded his room to a suite and took her to his hotel once Alexis okayed her to leave the hospital on Friday afternoon. Devon made sure she was comfortable and left once she was happily chowing down on room service. By the time he came back, she was once more asleep.
Franco showed up, suitcase in hand, a few hours later. He was taking the other bedroom in the suite. They spent the day working, sometimes together, sometimes separately. Progress was frustratingly slow, but Devon was glad he wasn’t trying to do this alone. Franco had taken on the task of checking through the mountains of paperwork in the Grand Master’s office for clues. He hadn’t come up with anything, at least not yet, but they were eliminating possibilities. As the day went on, Devon was increasingly sure that this hadn’t been a circuitous attempt on Juliette’s life.
He was glad he had something to do. She’d been sick, but it rattled him that Juliette hadn’t exploded in anger when she saw him. He was dreading the conversation they were going to have when she woke up.
Near midnight, Franco rose and stretched. “I’m tired. Let’s go to bed. Tomorrow I’m going to call my father. Maybe he’ll remember something about the box.”
“Fair enough.” Devon rubbed the back of his neck and closed his laptop.
Franco headed to the bedroom. The wrong bedroom.
“Other way,” Devon said.
“Isn’t Juliette in this room?”
“Yes.”
“Then this is where I’m going.”
“I was going to stay with her tonight.”
“We’ll both stay with her.”
Devon considered the other man. “Good idea.”
*****
<
br /> The mattress sank under their weight, one man on each side of her. The covers were pushed aside, and for a moment she shivered as the cool air touched her bare skin. Then their hands were on her naked flesh, warm palms and firm fingers kneading and stroking.
They eased her hands away from her throat, kissed and stroked her shoulders and cheeks. The poison still lingered in her blood, making her body ache as if she were recovering from the flu. They treated her as if she was made of glass, taking their time.
Devon slid down the bed, easing her legs apart. “Tell me if you’re too tired for this.”
“No, not too tired.”
“Let me hold you.” Franco slid in place against the headboard, her back resting on his chest.
She could feel his hard cock against the small of her back.
They kissed and stroked, comforting her without words. Devon lowered his head between her legs, kissing her pussy as Franco toyed with her nipples.
She came once, and then Devon moved away, Franco taking his place.
“Spread her open with your fingers. She likes it when you fuck her with your tongue. Rub your nose on her clit while you do it.”
Devon coached Franco on how to touch her, how to pleasure her. When the sensation became too intense, coming so soon after her first orgasm, Devon held her down, his hands gentle but strong restraints, his kiss muffling her gasps of pleasure.
She came a second time, her sweaty body sinking bonelessly into the mattress. Franco slid between her legs, his cock rubbing between the lips of her sex.
“Kiss him, keep him calm.” Devon had climbed off the bed.
Juliette stroked Franco’s face. “Hi,” she whispered.
He kissed her cheek. “Hi,” he replied.
The mattress dipped under Devon’s weight. He held a tube of lube.
Juliette turned wide eyes on Franco. “Are you okay with this?”
“Yes. I want to be with you, both of you, in every way.” Franco smiled.
“Have you ever had anal sex before?” Juliette asked.
“With a dude? No.”
“What?”
“I had this one girlfriend, in college… It’s a long story.”
“I can be in the middle,” she offered.
“No, you need to rest.” Devon wrapped an arm around Franco’s chest, pulling the other man up. Franco turned his head and they kissed. The sight of Devon’s muscled arm across Franco’s equally muscled chest was delightfully arousing.
